


As Good As I Thought You'd Be

by zzzealous



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: A little bit of daddy issues, Anal Sex, Cook being an overall creep, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Kind of a slow burn though, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, This ship is so toxic but that's kind of why I love it, a lot of not giving a fuck, cook's a terrible person, dubcon, like a terrible person, lots of licking because hey everyone has their thing, men with a lot of issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzzealous/pseuds/zzzealous
Summary: But usually they were surrounded by other navigators, who could see through the way he looked down with heavy-lidded eyes and took in every curve of Abel's pretty face that grated on his self-restraint. But now they were alone.-And Cook could have taken it any way, could have been offended. Yet, he decided to take it as harsh playfulness, the only time he ever saw a bit of Jules in Abel.-He assured himself that it had been a mistake on Cook's part, that he hadn't meant anything by it, that he wasn't trying to get him drunk, but he knew so much better.-He had spent so much of his time trying to lead his own life, to get out of the grips of his overbearing father, and yet there was still something so addicting about being held by a man who wanted to be entirely in control of him.-With Cook on top of him, his smell enveloped Abel and it was familiar and reassuring, like military detergent and scotch and some other navigator Abel couldn't place.





	As Good As I Thought You'd Be

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing started because I couldn't find AbelxCook stuff anywhere, and that's after me searching all the fanfic sites and Starfighter RP blogs on tumblr.  
> Soo...be the change you want to see, I guess?  
> That seems like an odd lesson to put at the start of a PWP fic but like  
> Also I read somewhere that Abel might be of French origin, and I really like that idea, so I'm running with it, whether it's true or not.

If anyone asked, Cook would say he had only meant it to be a friendly drink between colleagues. Not purposefully getting Abel drunk, spilling scotch down the front of his uniform, fucking him senseless, and having him spend the night. 

No, definitely not. 

When he had first asked Abel to come by his quarters, it had been in passing during a brief moment when Abel had been working on the new engine configuration entirely alone. There was something so riveting about approaching the younger man, as there often weren't many words between them besides the occasional question or check-ins on assignments. The most information Cook had been able to garner about him was either due to his personal file from enlistment or from occasionally hearing gossip amoung younger navigators. The latter was almost entirely useless, save for making his imagination run wild. 

It would be a glaring lie to say that Cook could keep his focus on only the purest of thoughts once Abel entered his line of vision, however he was almost certain that he himself only registered in the faintest corners of Abel's mind. It almost wasn't fair, to lust so deeply after the young man when he was nothing more than a superior, a commander, in the other's eyes. And yet somehow the challenge in the whole situation made it all the more interesting. He knew he was only building up Abel in his head, holding him and what they could possibly do together at an unattainable standard that would only leave him let down if they ever were to fuck. But even the possibility of being with the young blond was enough, because he was quickly growing tired of the look-a-likes that he brought into his office to quench the Abel-fueled thirst. Not that he didn't enjoy the look-a-likes, because Mother knows he _adored_ them with _every inch_ of himself, but a little change was in order. 

Cook had only mentioned that he wanted to personally thank Abel for the work he was putting into the new configuration, which wasn't entirely incorrect. Had he been a better man, things would have stayed at just that. 

Had he been a better man, Abel wouldn't have been sitting across from him, gently bearing a small glass of scotch while he downed his own and poured another. 

Cook wasn't going to pretend that he didn't know full well the navigator was part of a project that couldn't be jeopardized. But somehow that had managed to fall to the back of his mind sometime between letting Abel into the office and actually registering that the boy was truly there, right where he wanted him to be. He almost didn't realize that Abel was speaking when his brain had already started scheming on how to get him from sitting in that chair to over his desk. 

"Thank you for the drink, Sir." As he motioned with the glass just slightly, the liquid moved in a way Cook couldn't take his eyes off after watching Abel take a sip. 

Abel was polite and professional, and Cook needed to change things to _unprofessional_ very quickly. However, the fact remained that Abel probably had not slept with any of the other navigators and may not take well to being hit on by a superior. He didn't know how to go about this. 

"You're welcome; it's the least I could do." 

By the way Abel continued to nurse the glass, hunched into himself, legs shut together at the knees, he could tell Abel was uncomfortable. Not that he blamed the boy. They never really spoke, and Cook was becoming very aware that he may have forgotten how to actually hit on someone, when most navigators usually came so easily to him that it wasn't always necessary. 

He opened his mouth to make an attempt, when Abel beat him to it. "I'm glad you invited me here. I'd thought that maybe the rumours going around would make things awkward between us." 

" _Rumours_?" 

Cook was only playing innocent. He knew full well the kinds of rumours that spread about himself and just about any navigator that he was close with. The only difference was most of the time the rumours were true. Right now he just wanted to hear Abel _say it_ –say that select navigators thought they were fucking, thought that Cook only favoured him because the young man was probably taking a shot in the mouth every night. 

But he wouldn't bite. "Oh uh...well, Sir, it's really nothing. Just pointless gossip." 

And just like that, the topic seemed to be slipping away, and Cook wouldn't allow it. 

"If you're referring to what I think you are, there's nothing to be worried about, Abel." 

Abel's shoulders seemed to relax, with a small smile spreading over his thin lips, misinterpreting what he had heard. "Oh, well that's good, I-" 

"It's not uncommon for rumours like that to be based in truth." He wasn't sure if he had meant to cut Abel off, but he could not, would not, let this go. If he fucked things up, now, it was reparable. Things would be awkward, but not more than they already were, and he could apologize for his unprofessionalism the next day, and Abel would make nice because they had to work together, even if he didn't want to. If he didn't go for it, the opportunity might have been lost. 

A confused look made its way over Abel's face. The young blond's gaze passed over Cook, around the room, and settled on the drink in his hand, before a wide-eyed look of realization came over him, and he realized why he was truly there, in Cook's office. In what seemed like microseconds, he was up, the glass had been placed down on Cook's desk, and he was excusing himself in a way Cook wasn't really listening to while he headed for the door. 

Before he could process how creepy his actions may have been, the commander was up on his feet, beating Abel to the exit, and placed himself between the young navigator and the door-opening panel on the wall, but only just barely. 

It was strange for them to be so close. They almost never were, save for the times when Cook was leaning over something the other was working on, and it was just too good to be true. But usually they were surrounded by other navigators, select few who Cook had already been with, who could see through the way he looked down with heavy-lidded eyes and took in every curve of Abel's pretty face that grated on his self-restraint. But now they were alone, face-to-face, with the small gap between them wearing away at his already thin patience. 

"What are you doing, Sir?" The tone of Abel's voice remained professional except for the bite at the end. 

"You should stay. I really hadn't meant anything by what I sai-" 

" _Yes_ , Sir. Yes, you had." 

He was surprised to see Abel so cautious, claws out. 

He was even more surprised to hear him chime in again with that respectful yet impudent tone, "Is this how you get all your navigators to sleep with you?" 

Abel knew he was out of line and pushing his luck, but he felt that this he could get away with. If anything, Cook was in the wrong, not him, superior or not. His heartrate increased looking up at his commander's face, unsure what to expect in retaliation. 

And Cook could have taken it anyway, could have been offended. Yet, he decided to take it as harsh playfulness, the only time he ever saw a bit of Jules in Abel. "No, they're usually much more willing than this," and he added a smirk at the end that stayed on his face. 

Abel searched him over, looking at his face and in his eyes to see if there was any joke to it all. When he came to the conclusion that there wasn't, that his commanding office was being entirely honest about how easy it was for him to fuck his colleagues, he made to push passed him to open the door. Cook caught the movement in time, and placed himself hard against the wall, covering the panel entirely, and was intrigued when Abel's hand brushed against his shoulder that had cut him off. It had only been a mistake, and only lasted not even a second, but it was enough to make Cook's eyes light up. 

"Just stay; finish the drink. Nothing has to happen." 

It was an absolute shameless lie, but as Abel retracted his hand and gave him a look of uncertainty, the younger man did seem to calm down. Abel took a step back. It felt like an eternity passed as they stood, barely two feet apart, apprehension exuding from the boy. Not that Cook was complaining. 

"Alright." 

Back in his seat, Abel didn't take his eyes off the commander, entirely on edge, but Cook could have sworn he appeared less uncomfortable as he proceeded to add more scotch to his protégé's glass. If Abel had noticed that he had only agreed on drinking what he had had left, not the copious amount that Cook was adding, he didn't vocalize it. 

But even as he took the glass back, Cook didn’t move from his place next to Abel's seat, but rather leaned back and sat against the desk, his eyes never leaving the other's face. 

Under his commanding officer's stare, it was difficult to not be unsettled, but Abel refused to pull his eyes away. He couldn't risk it. 

They both drank quietly, keeping tabs on the other person's movements. Abel specifically drank some of his own scotch because he felt that, otherwise, he would never be able to survive the rest of this encounter. 

He kept to his earlier habit of nursing the glass. It dawned on Cook that maybe Abel didn't even enjoy scotch. 

"Do you not like it?" 

"No, it's not that," he said, entirely at attention, now. "I just...don't have the highest tolerance." He almost regretted saying it. 

"You don't drink much?" 

There was nothing telling in Cook's stance other than how he leaned back, head titled, and Abel couldn't even tell if he was listening to what he was saying or if he was just caught up looking at him. 

"Not usually," he shrugged. "A little bit when I was younger, going through school." He took a small drink. "Barely at all, now." 

The barely-noticable smirk was back on Cook's face. "That's a shame. I have some good alcohol in this office." 

"Probably, but I'm pretty picky." Abel kept his eyes cold, or as cold as they could remain when his face was heating up, the scotch finally starting to hit him. 

"Do you have a favourite?" 

Abel considered this. "Eddu Gold. From France, and my family always preferred local tastes. It's also sweeter and not as strong as some whiskeys, which is what I want." He left out the part about how a decent amount of French whiskey was on the sweeter side, but out of all of them, that one was much more in his family's price spectrum, which ranged from "expensive" to "too expensive". 

"Are you really that sensitive to alcohol?" 

Cook didn't know the half of it. 

Rather than blurt out some embarrassing story about how his first few kisses all involved too much champagne at political galas, he stuck with giving a small smile and a shrug. It was only then that Cook took notice of the heat on Abel's cheeks, the pink tinge making him all the more beautiful. He gave a long, suggestive look that Abel chose to ignore. The young navigator hated the game he was playing, but knew this didn't have to go anywhere, and he was confident that he could maintain their work relationship just fine. 

He didn't know what was worse, Cook adding a little bit of water to his scotch to "make it taste better" and then adding more scotch when he claimed to have put too much water, or the fact that Abel said nothing about it and drank it anyways. He couldn't muster up a response, snarky or not. He assured himself that it had been a mistake on Cook's part, that he hadn't meant anything by it, that he wasn't trying to get him drunk, but he knew so much better. 

As the commander sat closer than ever, now, part of Abel was uncomfortable, but another part of him ached. He prided himself on good decisions, but lately he hadn't done much in the realm of even decent decisions. 

If he could sleep with Cain –a total stranger, a jerk, someone he'd have to work with for the foreseeable future- and not feel too terrible about it, wouldn't Cook be an even better bet? He was his boss, sure, but at least it felt safer. He was a fellow navigator, a man who understood the work he did and appreciated it. 

Abel quickly decided that was the alcohol talking. 

Swallowing once, he lifted the glass in his hand to his lips and knocked back half of what was there. He grimaced at the smokier taste he never enjoyed, and then didn't bother with the rest. Placing it on the desk in front of him, he stood, now eye-to-chin with Cook. The distance between them was, again, minimal, more-so than before. 

He had parted his lips to say goodbye, and then, quickly and suddenly with an urge inside Cook that threatened to painfully tear him apart, Cook moved forward and pulled Abel into him by a hand on the back of the smaller man's neck. 

Abel shouldn't have been surprised, but he was, and struggled haphazardly, his movements slow from the alcohol settling inside of him. However, when Cook planted his lips against Abel's and dragged him closer, pushing the boy up against himself, Abel relaxed despite his own unwillingness. 

The kiss was strange. For both of them. 

Cook never made it a habit of kissing most of his navigators, at least not on the mouth. There was something so personal about it that didn't fit well into how the commander liked to do things. He fumbled before being a bit rougher.

And despite his earlier protests, Abel was responding a lot more readily than he wanted to admit. He fell against Cook's chest with ease as they kissed, and he almost couldn't believe how nice it felt to have the other man's hands on him. He had spent so much of his time trying to lead his own life, to get out of the grips of his overbearing father, and yet there was still something so addicting to being held by a man who wanted to be entirely in control of him. 

Cook opened his legs to let Abel settle in between them, the younger man's warm, gentle hands on his chest, one sneaking its way faster up to his collar. Cook moved his to sit on either side of Abel's delicate jaw, fingers still brushing by his hair, and took the boy's bottom lip between his. Abel quickly wondering if just the taste alone of the scotch on Cook's mouth would be enough to forcibly push him over the line between very tipsy and entirely drunk. He didn't know what he was doing and none of it made sense, but when Cook moved one of his hands down to the boy's waist and pushed his parted mouth against his neck, he couldn't stop himself from just letting it happen. 

A strangled noise escaped Abel's mouth as Cook sucked hot, bruising marks along his jugular. 

"I've wanted you for so long. So badly." Cook's voice cracked from its usual calculated coldness, and he didn't think Abel would even want the "you're the only one" talk, because first and foremost it was a cheap lie, and also because Abel didn't seem like the type. However, he felt like he owed it to him. Cook's voice trailed off as he went to pick up the drink he had left unfinished, "If you knew how much I thought about you, thought about _fucking_ you..." 

When he was finished taking a drink, Abel was all up onto him, eager and pulling him down back into his lips. Surprised, the glass in his hand slipped ever-so-slightly and scotch spilled down the front of Abel's uniform shirt. 

As he went to apologize, Abel spoke just above a whisper, "Don't worry about it." 

"How about I help you take it off?" 

As he returned to sucking on the young blond's collar, his fingers expertly worked at the buttons down the front of the messed shirt. When it had all been undone and pulled out from the boy's pants' waist line, Cook spread his hands over his bare chest and relished in the soft, now over-heating skin. When he came across a drop of scotch left untouched, he wiped it away with a finger and brought it to Abel's mouth. Thin lips enveloped the thumb, followed by a tongue, and despite the taste, Abel enjoyed the act. 

It felt nice to be wanted. 

Gripping Abel's legs and bringing them up onto either side of him, Cook turned them around to sit Abel on his desk, moving down to bite tenderly around one of his nipples. Abel probably should have been embarrassed by the noises that he made in response, but he barely thought about it as he buried his hands into Cook's hair. 

And Cook was plenty satisfied with the sight of Abel's bare legs after laying him down across the desk and slipping off his uniform pants. They were slim and almost elegant, a nice length for his height, and Cook ravished his inner thighs with his tongue on the way back up to his mouth. Abel's heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he helped to remove Cook's shirt and could barely contain himself at how good the older man looked. He hadn't much noticed before, but it was hard not to, now. 

With Cook on top of him, his smell enveloped Abel and it was familiar and reassuring, like military detergent and scotch and some other navigator Abel couldn't place. 

When the other stood up and walked around the desk, Abel was confused, but laid back down once he saw that Cook had only gone to retrieve lube from his desk drawer. Abel wasn't even surprised at that one. When he came back around he was smirking and his eyes were glowing in a way Abel had never seen, and there was something even more exciting about it. 

Cook had made very little noise up until then but couldn't help a low grown as he buried his head between Abel's legs and he slipped off the boy's underwear. 

"Spread your legs more." 

Quickly Abel obliged, and Cook practically swooned over him following his orders so easily. 

He had two fingers, soon to be three, in Abel before the smaller blond even knew it. It probably would have been easier to prep him if Abel had been bent over the desk, but he was fairly certain Cook preferred it this way, with Abel on his back, legs up and spread open. 

And Abel was more than happy to let Cook finger him open and stroke him off, occasionally breathing out a contented sigh about how good his hands felt, how good it all felt. 

The back of Cook's hand brushed over his colleague's own, intending to clasp it, before noticing how icy it was to the touch. "Are you cold?" 

"Not really," he lied. 

And despite the protests, Cook was picking him up, and taking him over to his room. It was rare that he ever brought navigators to his actual bed, but it was a luxury he could allow Abel. Just this once. 

He gently threw Abel onto the bed and the sheets felt soft against his bare skin. By the time he was on top of Abel, again, his bottoms were gone, and Abel couldn't stop the sound that escaped him when he sucked a hickey into the navigator's throat and their cocks brushed together. When he felt his commanding officer's dick rub against his entrance, he moaned against the shell of his ear and slipped his hands back into his hair. 

It was only when Cook pushed long, hard thrusts into Abel that he remembered how much he loved everything about sex. The tease, the thrill, the desire that made him forget how terrible of an idea this just might have been. He felt Cook swell inside him, big and hot and everything he wanted right then, when his hands gripped harshly into his commander's shoulders. 

Even though Abel wasn't the most coordinated and his head still buzzed from the alcohol, he matched Cook's movements surprisingly well, and when Cook thrusted up into him it was met by him moving down and tightening up with just as much vigor. 

Abel, incredibly pleased and practically begging, reached down to grab his own cock, but had his hand shoved away and pressed down into the bed. 

"You'll cum when I make you cum," was the only explanation he got. 

Abel breathed out a heavy, "Please, Sir," and Cook couldn't take it, pushing Abel's legs apart even more. 

Looking down at the young navigator, he couldn't believe how beautiful he looked, more-so than he had imagined, but he also couldn't believe the almost complacent smile on the boy's face. It was definitely different than he had envisioned. 

By the time he had a hand on Abel's cock, Abel was thanking him and giving copious amounts of praise that only succeeded in spurring Cook on. 

When they finally came, Cook filling Abel up and getting some onto the sheets with the last of his thrusts, and Abel spilling hot cum onto his own abdomen, Abel could barely remember why he had thought this wouldn't be a good idea, and Cook forgot to not let the navigator spend the rest of the night in his bed. 

He had meant to get him out of there eventually, but when he lazily slumped down onto the young boy below him, and they panted just slightly out of time with one another, the thought left him entirely. And Abel had meant to leave on his own accord, _he really had_. But when Cook pulled him up against his chest and marveled at the navigator's pretty face, running his fingers along his jaw and then his collar bone and back up again, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Rushed the ending lol  
> Also Eddu Gold isn't THAT expensive, but it is compared to other sweet whiskeys


End file.
